University of Virginia Library

Scœn 2.

Chorus, Streps Phidip.
Cho.
“Old man it much concerns you to confute
“Your son, whose confidence appears to suit
“With a just cause; how happen'd this dispute?

Str.
I shall relate it from the first; as soon
As we had din'd, I took a lute and bid him
Sing the sheep-shearing of Simonides,
He told me 'twas an old and ugly fashion
To sing at dinner like a millers wife.

Phi.
And was not this sufficient to deserve
A beating; when you'd make men chirp like Grasse-hoppers?

Str.
Just so he said within; and added that
Simonides was an unpleasant Poet.
I must confesse I hardly could forbear him;
But then I bid him take a Myrtle branch,
And act some piece of Æschylus, that Æschylus
Saith he, is of all Poets the absurdest,
The hat shest, most disorderly and bumbast.
Did not my heart pant at this language think you?
Yet I represt it; Then said I, rehearse
A learned speech out of some modern wit;
He strait repeats out of Euripides
A tedious long Oration, how the Brother
(Good Heavens) did violate his sisters bed.
Here I confesse I could contain no longer
But chid him sharply; to dispute we went,
Words upon words, till he at last to blowes,
To strike, to pull, to tear me.

Phi.
And not justly?
You that would discommend Euripides
The wisest of all Poets.

Str.
Wisest? ah
What did I say, I shall be beat agen.

Ph.
By Iove, and you deserve't.

Str.
How, deserve it?
Ungratefull wretch, have I not brought thee up,
Fed and maintain'd thee from a little one,
Supplied thy wants? how then can I deserve it?

Chor.
“Now I believe each youthfull breast
“With expectation possest,
“That if the glory of the day
“Be from the Plantiffe born away,
“By this example they may all
“Upon the old men heavy fall;
“What you have done with utmost art,
“To justifie is now your part.

Phid.
How sweet it is to study, sage new things;
And to contemn all fundamental lawes!
When I applied my mind to Horse-coursing
I could not speak three words but I was out;
Now since I gave it ore, I am acquainted
With ponderous sentences and subtle reasons,
Able to prove I ought to beat my Father.

Str.
Nay, follow racing still, for I had rather
Maintain thy horses then be beaten thus.

Phid.
I will begin where you did interrupt me,
And first will ask, did you not beat me when
I was a child?

Streps.
But that was out of love.

Phid.
'Tis very right, tell me then, ought not I
To recompence your love with equall love;
If to be beaten be to be belov'd,
Why should I suffer stripes, and you have none?
I am by nature born as free as you;
Nor is it fit the sons should be chastiz'd,
And not their parents.

Str.
Why?

Phid.
You urge the Law,
That doth allow all children to be beaten:
To which I answer, Old men are twice children,
And therefore ought, when they offend, be punish'd
As well as we.

Str
But there's no Law that saies
The Parents should be punished.

Phid.
Was not he
Who made that Law, a man as you and I,
He form'd a Law, which all the old men follow'd;
Why may not I as well prescribe another,
And all the young men follow my advice:
But all the blowes before this Law was made
Must be forgiven without all dispute.
Besides, mark how the Cocks and other creatures
Fight with their sires, who differ not at all
From us, save only that they make no lawes.

Streps.
Why then if you will imitate the Cocks,
Do you not dine upon a Dunghill, and
Lodge in a hen-roost?

Phid.
'Tis not all one case,
Our Socrates doth not approve so far.

Streps.
Approve not then their fighting, but in this
Thou plead'st against thy selfe.

Phid.
How so?

Streps.
Because
Th'authority I exercise o're thee
Will be thine own, when ere thou hast a son.

Phid.
But if I ne'r have any, then I never
Shall have authority, and you will go
To th'grave deriding me.

Streps.
'Tis too much reason.

Phid.
Hear now another argument.

Streps.
I'me lost.

Phid.
And then perhaps you'l take the blowes I gave you
Not halfe so ill.

Streps.
What good shall I get by them?

Phid.
I'le beat my mother too.

Streps.
What sayest thou, thou?
Why this is worse then t'other.

Phid.
What if I
Prove by the second language that I ought?

Streps.
Why then you will have nothing more to do.
But prove that you, and your wise Socrates,
And wiser language may hang all together.
O Clouds, all this I suffer through your means,
For I in you wholly repos'd my trust.

Chor.
“Thy selfe art author of this misery,
“Because to ill thou didst thy mind apply.

Streps.
Why did you then give me no warning of it?
You know I was a rude and aged man.

Chor.
“This is our custome, whensoere we find
“Any to malice or deceit enclin'd,
“Into some dreadfull mischief such we thrust,
“That they may fear the Gods, and learn what's just.

Streps.
Alasse, this is a mischief, and a just one,
For I ought not, when I had borrow'd mony,
To seek out wayes t'avoid restoring it.
Come then my son, let us be reveng'd
Upon that wicked Socrates and Cheræphon,
Who have abus'd us both.

Phid.
I will not wrong
My Masters.

Streps.
Reverence Celestiall Jove.

Phid.
Celestiall Jove, see how you rave now father:
There's no such thing as Iove.

Streps.
There is.

Phid.
A whirle-wind
Hath blown Iove quite away, and rules all.

Streps.
No son, he's not expell'd, I was but fool'd
To worship in his room a fictile deity.

Phid.
Nay if you will needs be mad, be mad alone.